


Striking the Right Note

by Sophie



Category: Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: Age Difference, Coming Out, Coming of Age, M/M, Mention of a sexually active underage character, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-14
Updated: 2014-12-14
Packaged: 2018-03-01 12:58:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2773877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie/pseuds/Sophie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A tale of how Stefen's best friend went from “Stef, stop dating men that are way too old for you!” to “Let me matchmake you with my uncle, he is just your type.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frogy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogy/gifts).



> Happy Holidays!
> 
> Thank you for giving me the opportunity to write about Medren, I really enjoyed writing this assignment for you!
> 
> A big thanks to [Toast](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dytabytes) for betaing this!

Bardic Collegium was very calm at this time of the day. The younger students were either in their rooms practicing, or outside, letting go after a long day of classes. The older students, allowed to go beyond the college grounds, were in the heart of Haven's public market, setting up for the evening crowd.

Medren was nearly alone in Bardic's vast dining hall, sitting at the end of one of the three long tables there. There were a few more students close by, also slaving away on work. Medren generally couldn't work efficiently on mathematics or sciences in his room, surrounded by his instruments and other much more appealing alternatives; he liked to imagine the half-dozen students also in the dining hall right now were similarly trying to trick themselves into doing their mathematics homework. Why they even _needed_ any sort of mathematical knowledge was beyond Medren, but he wasn't letting something so ridiculous stop him from getting his Scarlets and becoming a Bard.

He was working on a series of triangles that were adamant about giving him a headache when Godfrey and his usual following, Franya and Karith, walked in, making sure they could not be ignored.

Medren did not like Godfrey. He was from a good family, and had taken to make anyone who was not feel inadequate. For all that he was seventeen, two years older than Medren, the other boy had always been selfish, self-centered and full of himself. This was why, even though he was old enough that he'd soon be promoted to Journeyman if he got the attention of the teachers, he had been getting passed over for younger students. It made him even crueller than usual. Luckily, Medren had rapidly developed his father's frame and muscles, and apart from calling Medren a bastard on a few occasions, Godfrey had kept his distance.

Or, rather, had _mostly_ kept his distance, as he sat down in front of Medren, snickering, clearly not there for a friendly exchange on the weather.

“Hello, Medren,” he said, grinning.

Etiquette was the only reason why Medren looked up from his work and answered a curt “Good morning”, not even bothering to set down his quill.

“You would not believe who we just ran into,” he continued, disregarding Medren's unfriendly tone.

“I probably also would not care in the slightest.”

“We saw your little protégé at the market.”

Medren's blood ran cold. This revelation could in no way be anything else than bad news. Stefen was not yet allowed to leave the grounds during days off, and had already been caught sneaking out a few times. He had been warned about the consequences he would be facing at another such indiscretion, and Medren thought he’d made it clear that Stef was to share with him his plans when he wished to do anything outside of what was permitted. That way, Medren could both verify the validity of his plan and play false witness, or open windows, if needed.

“I doubt it was Stefen, if it was at the market. I know for a fact that he's currently in our room,” Medren lied deftly anyway, and hoped Stef had realized he had been seen so that he'd be back at their room fast enough that Godfrey wouldn't have the time to fetch a teacher.

“Oh no, it was him,” Godfrey insisted, too pleased with himself.

Medren started ordering his papers, stood up, and tucked them under his arm. “If you're quite done, I am going to retire to our room, also. I think I'm sensing the beginning of a headache. Must be the company.”

Godfrey glared at him and didn't let Medren go, navigating around the tables so he could follow him.

“It _was_ your little street whore and he's back to his old ways.”

“You will stop talking now if you know what's good for you,” Medren said, between his teeth.

Getting a reaction out of Medren seemed only to excite Godfrey, who smiled widely and added, “He must have liked selling his body because he is letting some older men have their way, the little pervert. I'd be careful if I were you, you might catch his deviance–”

Medren let his work fall on the floor, turned around, and punched Godfrey in the face with his left hand, naturally protecting his dominant hand even if it made the hit less efficient.

Godfrey yelled and clutched his face, Franya screamed and ran to his side, all as Karith jumped on Medren in retaliation.

*

“Medren, I don't often see you here,” Bard Breda told him, after she had treated Karith and Godfrey, “And I certainly never see you because you got into a fight.”

She slowly started treating him, examining his lips, nose and eyes. She hadn't asked anything, so Medren thought it fair to stay silent and allow her to work.

“You won’t need a Healer. Nothing broken, and I don't believe you’ll even have a black eye. You ended that tussle in much better shape than your adversaries.”

Medren did his best not to smile at this prognostic, and was only mildly successful.

“Now. Franya and Karith both said you hit Godfrey first. Do you... corroborate this version of the facts?”

Breda looked at him, and Medren could see rather plainly that she was expecting him to deny this, and was ready to believe him. Godfrey was not liked by many, including most teachers at Bardic.

Medren glanced away.

“Yes, that’s right.”

Breda's eyes widened in surprise. “You admit to being the first one to turn the matter physical?” she asked, as if to give him a chance to change his mind about his statement.

“Yes,” Medren muttered, looking down at his hand. It had throbbed a bit shortly after the hit, but it did not hurt at all anymore. He couldn’t have hit Godfrey all that forcefully.

“Well. Since everyone agrees, you will understand that punishment is in order. You will not be allowed to Haven proper for a month, and you will report to the library to help Bard Julia every evening this week. You also will have to meet with the school's disciplinary committee. Most likely, this will result in a strike against you. Do it again, and you could be facing expulsion, which is something I do not wish to see happen.” Breda looked at him intensely. “Is all of this clear?”

“Yes, Bard Breda,” Medren answered, chastened.

“Now,” Breda said, putting down the medical supplies she had been using. “This will in no way diminish the severity of the situation,” she looked at Medren pointedly, “ _but_ , I would like to know what Godfrey said to provoke you, if you are willing to share.”

Medren tightened his mouth, not _unwilling_ exactly, but unable to recount the whole exchange without telling the Bard that Stef had most likely been at the market this afternoon.

She mistook the reason of his hesitation and asked, her voice softer, “Did he comment on the status of your birth?”

“No. He didn't say anything about _me_.”

Breda's eyes lit up in comprehension. “Something about your uncle's preference?”

Medren's face darkened and he nodded. Although the comment had not been about Vanyel specifically, he knew himself enough that he could tell he had reacted so strongly because Godfrey had been insulting both his best friend and uncle.

“Very well,” Breda said, “I understand the need to defend the ones you love, but it does not excuse your behavior. Do not let him, or anyone, give rise to your temper like this again.”

Medren nodded once more.

“Away with you, young man. And don't forget to report to Bard Julia.”

*

Stefen was sitting on his bed, skittish, when Medren walked into their room. He jumped to his feet, nearly running towards Medren.

“What happened to your face?”

“Godfrey,” Medren said, before amending his answer, “Oh, no, he never did get close enough. It was all Karith.”

“Did you fight them? You don't even know how to fight!”

“I know how to fight! You should see how _they_ look,” Medren retorted, annoyance creeping in his tone.

Stef's expression immediately changed from worried to pained and guilty. “I think Godfrey saw me at the market,” he said.

“Yes, he did. I told him it couldn’t have been you, as I knew for a fact that you were in our room.”

“Thank you.”

“Even if his story is not enough to report you to someone, he'll make sure to spread gossips about what he saw.”

Stefen waved his hand, dismissive. “There are already so many rumors about me, I don't see how this will change much at all.”

“It’s never quite the same when the rumors are true.”

Stefen laughed. “As if anything that Godfrey spreads around could be remotely close to any truth. And some of those gossips _are_ already true, either way.”

Medren frowned. Stef wasn't wrong, exactly, but he felt there was a significant difference between rumors that Stef used to be a beggar –which, although true, was only amusing to a certain group of people with whom Medren would not have wasted his time– and rumors that Stef might be shaych. Vanyel, who was very close to being celibate as well as being the most powerful Herald-Mage in the kingdom, still often fell victim to discrimination and a stream of problems due to his preferences. Stef was frail and young, had an amazing Bardic Gift that would be completely useless in a fight, and most likely was _not_ on his way to celibacy if he was already going to Haven to meet people.

“It would have been easier to cover for you if I’d known you planned to sneak out today,” Medren stated and raised his eyebrows at Stefen in an attempt to breach the topic slowly – or even to encourage Stef to talk to him first.

“I might have forgotten?” Stef asked, suddenly grinning like a devil.

“Of course you did,” Medren answered, sitting down on the chair by their desk. “Are you sure it isn't because you wanted to conceal why you wished to go to the market?” Medren asked.

“Maybe that had a minimalistic influence on my decision.” Stef shrugged, apparently not bothered by Medren's line of questioning, even if not quite forthcoming. Medren hesitated and finally chose to be blunt.

“Godfrey said you were with an older man.”

Stef opened his mouth and frowned in an incredulous grimace. “Percyvell is not _old_. He is younger than Godfrey.” That probably meant that this Percyvell was three or four years older than Stef, which sounded a bit too old to Medren, but certainly did not qualify as 'some older man'. “Honestly!” Stefen carried on, “I have no doubt that Godfrey is jealous because he is strongly encouraged to stay celibate until his wedding night, lest some bastard could put a claim on his family's land and properties!”

As Stefen kept talking, Medren slowly hid his face in his hands. “I’m not saying you are wrong,” he responded, “and you have to trust me when I say that I have no issue with it at all, but I really believe that you should be more subtle about being shaych.”

“About being _what_?” Stefen asked, clearly startled.

“Shaych. It comes from the Tayledras word _shay'a'chern_.” _Now is not the best time for an etymology lesson_ , Medren thought. “It means you have a... romantic preference for other men.”

Stef processed the new information and eventually sat down on his bed. “So,” he said, slowly, “Is it... bizarre to be interested in other men and not women?”

Stefen usually seemed older than his age, as his time before Bardic had taken its toll on him. Medren was surprised that he could appear and sound thirteen under certain circumstances.

He sighed. “Maybe. I don't know,” Medren answered truthfully. “What I do know is that you are not alone. My uncle...” He trailed off, having made his point. “And, clearly, _Percyvell_ ,” he added, smiling.

Stefen smirked, and he looked older again. “Still. You said some people would have issues with this?” Medren nodded. “Why?” Stefen asked.

“I'm not quite sure.” Medren grasped for the right words, and felt thoroughly unprepared to be having this conversation. “Although, I know it's their problem, not yours.”

“If it’s their problem, why should I hide?” Stefen declared, a hint of arrogance in his voice.

This statement set the tone for much of their time at Bardic.


	2. Chapter 2

Since Stefen had learned that his romantic preferences were not considered the norm two years past, he hadn't once tried to hide them.

 _'Romantic preferences'_ , Medren thought, _what a euphemism. They're really sexual preferences. I don't think he has ever seen anyone for more than a month, and most of the men he talks to me about last one night. I've known plenty of people who acted just this way with women, but people would never judge a man for having a string of_ female _conquests the way Stefen is constantly judged over his nightly activities._

Purposely unsubtle, Stefen had made sure said nightly activities were public knowledge and, therefore, often found himself in the middle of fights. Medren helped out, when he could. The fighting mostly happened outside of college grounds, and neither they nor their opponents ever admitted what really had happened when they tumbled into Bardic's infirmary. Everyone knew, of course, but as long as Bardic itself did not act to implement rules that would punish Stefen's tormentors, Stef refused to back down. As such, he kept on fighting, and Medren never deserted him.

Lending Stefen a hand when needed did not, however, mean that Medren considered everything his friend did to be above reproach.

“Stef,” Medren hissed, pulling the other teenager by the sleeve of his brown tunic in an empty, unlit room. He had been on his way to one of his composition classes when he’d overheard Stefen's name mentioned by a group of girls gossiping in the halls. About a third of the gossips at Bardic were about Stefen these days, only half of those completely made up. Medren had developed a true talent at being able to pinpoint the half-truths from the complete lies.

“Are you having an affair with Bard Josclyn?” Medren whispered between his teeth.

Stef's immediate grin told Medren the answer to his question and he groaned loudly.

Medren had shared that he thought seeing other Apprentices was a bad idea when Stef had started spending time with Wymar. He’d accepted that Stef wasn't going to listen to reason by the time Derek and Remfrey rolled by. Then, it had been Journeymen, which had _definitely_ been a lapse in judgement. However, most of them were rarely in Bardic, instead on the road, and Stef had convinced him that it certainly was not a morally dubious situation at all. They had, after all, no significant influence on Stef's status at Bardic, either good or bad. Not to mention that none of them fancied a teaching position, and thus would never be in a position of power over Stef.

Something Bard Josclyn most decisively was.

“He’s one of our teachers!” Medren pointed out rather uselessly, as Stefen was sure to know already.

“Don't worry,” Stefen said, calmly, “we’ve discussed the situation. We are not romantically involved, so nothing will change in how we conduct ourselves out and about. He simply has his own quarters, which is very convenient. Not to mention he is a highly skilled lover.”

“ _Why_ do you insist on sharing with me information on my peers –and now my teachers!– that I clearly do not wish to know anything about.”

“I barely said anything. And aren't you a bit hypocritical, here, after everything you told me about Esobel.”

“You did not _know_ Esobel, the situation was altogether different,” Medren replied. Then, to make sure the topic would be dropped, he remarked, “Bard Josclyn is still our teacher. Furthermore, he’s much too old for you.”

Stef smiled and crossed his arms over his chest. “He is very young for a teacher – we are merely nine years apart.”

“ _Merely_ ,” Medren repeated, unamused.

Stefen chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ve seen the way you look at Bard Sarra and she has to be fifteen years older than you are.”

Medren blushed. “She is very attractive,” Medren admitted, “but it doesn't mean I would try to initiate a relationship. It wouldn't be appropriate.”

“You should,” Stef offered.

“I should _not_.”

“With your chest, and your arms,” Stefen argued, waving at Medren's body and pointing vaguely, “you most definitely should. I have a hard time imagining her turning you away.”

“You are _insane_.”

Stefen laughed, unaffected by his friend's disarray. “I'm the one having a much better time at Bardic, between the two of us. You should follow my lead.”

“Did you at least verify if this could have any consequences?”

“There are no rules that could apply to our current situation,” Stefen assured Medren, but something in his voice made Medren doubt the sincerity of his statement.

Medren hadn’t been wrong. Stefen, being a Bard-in-training, was skilled at playing with words and making them bow to his will. The rules about affairs between students and teachers did exist, but were worded in such a way that they did not technically include relationships between two people of the same gender.

When Stefen's affair with Bard Josclyn became public, Stefen was called up to appear before the college’s ethics committee. Medren was more worried about the possible outcome than Stef himself.

“There is nothing to worry about,” Stefen promised. “I know I'm right.”

He went in front of the committee and exposed his points, and they were forced to acknowledge that Stefen was, indeed, correct in his reading of their own rules and regulations.

“I think Bard Breda was amused,” Stef said, during his retelling of the whole thing. “I'm sure she smiled at me when she knew no one else was looking.”

Medren lay on his bed, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Alas,” Stef continued, his tone now comically dramatic, “they warned that they would be changing their regulations to include same-sex arrangements, and that Josclyn and I were expected to cease seeing each other.”

“I can't believe you,” Medren mumbled from his bed. “This could have gone so wrong. You need to consider the possible outcomes of your actions better.”

*

True to his word, Stefen had listened to him: he had considered the possible outcomes of starting an affair with a recently married Viscount, and decided that the good outweighed the bad.

Medren, tired of playing the role of both Stefen's guardian and moral compass, had finally abandoned his delusions that he would one day convince Stef to stop making wretched choices concerning his love affairs.

“How do we make sure no one finds out about this?” Medren asked, resigned, after a particularly elaborate tirade about the Viscount's many qualities and extremely deep pockets.

“It won't be very complicated at all,” Stefen assured, “he's the one taking all the precautions so we won't be discovered. I won't ever stay over during the night because there's no way to make this completely safe, and we'll only meet at a small apartment that his wife knows nothing about, while she thinks he's working. I'll never be out after hours and I'll never be at his main residence.”

Medren couldn't hide that he was impressed by the arrangement. “That is awfully convenient,” he commented.

Stefen smiled, pleased. “I haven't told you the best part, yet. We met at that ball, where the best Apprentices were invited to perform.”

“Yes, I was there,” Medren said.

“How could I forget, when you decided to bring that ridiculous oversized bassanello.”

“It was a cornamuse,” Medren answered, grinning at Stef's annoyance. It had been a great event. “You're just jealous because I garnered more attention than you with it.”

“You did _not_.”

“Tell that to the three offers I received for a permanent post once I graduate,” Medren teased.

“I'm not graduating for probably five years, why would anyone offer me anything yet? And we were talking about my love life, how did this become about your future employment?”

Medren chuckled. “Right. So you met your Viscount at that ball.”

Stefen squinted, mock-annoyed. “He came up to talk to me and said it was because he had never seen a twelve-stringed gittern.”

“ _Not_ as popular as the cornamuse,” Medren butted it.

“Shut up a minute, will you. The truth was that he had heard about me already because of my somewhat risqué reputation,” Stefen continued, obviously proud of himself and content about the outcome. “So he thinks I should keep on seeing other people more publicly. That way, no one will wonder why I am suddenly celibate and who I must be seeing in secret.”

Medren frowned, startled. “Oh, wow,” he said, sincere. “That's _incredibly_ convenient. How do things like this even happen to you?”

“They don't just happen to me, I make them happen,” Stef answered, cocky.

“Huh-uh. So how old is he?”

“He's not old at all,” Stef answered. “Twenty-six or twenty-seven.”

“Careful,” Medren warned, “should the trend continue, you'll soon find yourself with someone who is twice your age.”

By the time his affair with the Viscount ended, Stefen owned some new pieces of jewelry, which were nice enough, but above all, he had obtained several rare instruments from his lover. Many of those were not even available in Bardic: a rosewood eight-stringed gittern and an ebony lute, a large wind instrument from Karse that undulated like a snake and was clearly meant to be played along some other instruments but was amusing to try, and a miniature portable organ.

The relationship ended without scandal, thank Havens, and Stefen couldn't or wouldn't tell Medren why it was ending at all. He did not seem sad about it, so Medren didn't press.

“I'm disappointed that you didn't have the time to get one of those bowed stringed instrument from the East,” Medren complained. “I really wanted to try one.”

“I think it's your turn to pull your weight,” Stef said, absently tuning the ebony lute. “Maybe find yourself a Marchioness?” he suggested.

*

Medren woke to the sound of Stefen stumbling through the window. He groaned and blinked a few times. It was the dead of the night outside, much later than usual for Stef to come back from one of his trysts.

“Woops!” Stefen said, much too loud, falling over the edge of the window.

“Shhh,” Medren mumbled, turning away from Stefen and half-hiding under his blankets.

Stef giggled but Medren didn't hear him stand up to get to his bed. When it had been at least a few minutes, Medren sighed and asked, “Is everything okay over there?”

Stef let out a plaintive noise. “I think I'll sleep on the floor,” he slurred.

 _I guess this means no,_ Medren thought. _Would it be terrible to leave him sleep on the floor? He's certainly seen worse. He doesn't sound hurt at all... just like he had one drink too many._

He swore under his breath and rolled on his bed to sit with his legs over its edge. “I'm being a great friend,” he mumbled to himself to increase his motivation before standing up.

He knelt on the floor next to Stefen and grabbed his shoulder, shaking slightly. “Don't sleep on the floor, wake up,” he said. “Move to your bed and I'll get you water from down the hall.”

Stefen moaned but reached for Medren's hand and let his friend help him up. “How did you manage to find the right window?” Medren wondered aloud, astonished.

“Instincts,” Stefen answered slowly as he fell on his bed. Medren left him, eventually coming back with a pint of water. Stefen had moved slightly, pulling his hanging limbs up so that he was fully on the bed.

Medren shook his head and sat next to him, putting the glass down on the small table by Stef's bed. “Water,” he said. Stef nodded in his pillow and rolled on the side, slowly moving into a sitting position, supported by Medren's body.

“How did you end up such a mess? What were you drinking?” Because this did not look like the effect of wine or ale.

“Eau-de-vie,” Stefen answered halfway through the pint of water. The glass started tipping in his hand and Medren took it, placing it back down. “He just... kept on buying,” Stef explained.

“You have to say 'no', when you've had enough,” Medren said, a bit patronizing, but he doubted Stef would be able to tell.

“He was so gorgeous,” Stef argued.

“Even when he's gorgeous.”

Stef turned towards Medren and buried his head in Medren's chest. “He looked so much like you,” Stef let out, half-whispering. Medren froze, eyes wide. Stefen fisted his hands in Medren's loose night shirt and pulled himself up, clearly angling for a kiss.

Medren put his arms in the way quickly, holding Stefen at a safe distance. “No,” he said, firmly.

Stef released his shirt. “All right,” he said, letting himself fall on his bed. He started snoring softly nearly straight away. Medren moved back to his bed but sleep didn't come for many candlemarks.

Medren was again awoken by Stefen a few hours later, when Stef swore loudly as he tried standing up. When Medren was, himself, sufficiently alert to pay attention to his surroundings, he saw Stef sitting on his bed, holding his head in his hands.

“Drink the water next to your bed,” Medren ordered. Stefen obeyed silently and, once done, curled up on his side in his bed.

“We have class,” Medren called over.

“‘M too sick for class,” Stefen grumbled.

“You are too _hungover_ for class,” Medren corrected, taking Stefen's covers and throwing them on his own bed, “but you’re going to get up and go anyway.”

“You’re a cruel friend,” Stefen whined. A short while later, although he still looked how Medren guessed he must be feeling, he was dressed and as ready for the day as he could be.

“We'll find you something to eat in the dining hall,” Medren promised.

“Before we go...” Stefen started and trailed off. Medren looked at him and waited. “When I returned last night... I was very drunk when I propositioned you.”

“I know,” Medren said, surprised that Stefen remembered anything from a few hours ago.

“I've always found you very attractive,” Stefen carried on, his tone lighter, “but I'm not looking for anything to happen between us.”

Medren nodded. “I'm not your type,” he affirmed.

Stefen looked torn. “That's not... you _are_ but that doesn't mean –”

“Lies and slander!” Medren interrupted dramatically, “I am ten years too young to be your type. Now let's get food before everything has been claimed by others.”


	3. Chapter 3

Medren's uncle was an extremely busy man, and Medren understood that. When he had been twelve, and had caught Vanyel's attention because of the Bardic Gift, he'd expected never to see him again, and was grateful for having had even that much interaction.

However, Vanyel had kept an interest, to Medren's surprise, and visited Medren as often as his position permitted him to do so, even if that didn't amount to much at all. When he couldn't visit, he would write a few times a year – nearly as much as Medren's mother.

It was a pleasant surprise when Vanyel came to Bardic to see him be promoted from Apprentice to Journeyman. Although promotions could happen at any time if needed, most of them happened at the Autumn Equinox, and the college organized a small ceremony every year where friends and families were invited. Medren and seven other Apprentices, as well as five Journeymen were to be promoted this season,. Medren had written to his mother about it, but she took her duties in Lineas-Baires very seriously, and had responded she would instead take the necessary time to see him when he made the jump to Bard, if it was all right with him – and it was. Becoming a Journeyman was a big deal to some, but not to Medren.

Vanyel arrived at the last possible moment, and Medren understood his purpose when he sat at the very back without being seen. By the time people had recognized him, Bard Isa was a few minutes into the welcoming speech and no one could make a big fuss about Vanyel's presence.

The new Journeymen were briefly introduced –their name, as well as the name of their parents or their place of provenance being the only information provided– and all walked to the front at the same time. They were congratulated and handed a neatly folded red-brown tunic that they would be allowed to start wearing after the end of the ceremony, along with their favored instrument. Many students did not have the funds to buy any instrument at all and strictly used the college's while they were Apprentices. During their travels as Journeymen, though, they would need instruments of their own, hence the college's graduation gift. Medren had forsaken originality in favour of ease and familiarity, and had declared the lute as his.

Medren saw Vanyel clap and smile at him when the new Journeymen were prompted off the stage, and then had to sit and wait for every single new Bard to be introduced in detail, each taking twice as long to promote than all of the Journeymen together.

After the ceremony, Vanyel approached Bard Breda. Their conversation lasted long enough that most people had left the hall, and only then did he approach Medren. Medren grinned and took the hint to walk towards his uncle, too. They embraced awkwardly as Medren still had his new lute in one hand and the Journeyman tunic in the other.

“Congratulations,” Vanyel said heartily.

“Thank you. I didn't know you would be here!”

“I didn't know either,” Vanyel explained. “That's why I didn't tell you anything. I didn't want you to expect me when I might have been pulled away.”

“I would have understood.”

“I know.” Vanyel's eyes became distant, the way every Herald's did when they were mindspeaking with someone. “Let's go outside, if it’s all the same for you. 'Fandes is complaining that she has been waiting outside without company for long enough.”

*

Vanyel was only able to stay for an hour before being called away by the King. He apologized profusely before rushing off. Medren didn't mind. He was content that his uncle had managed to show up at all. On his return to his room, he intruded on Stefen practicing a tune that Medren knew only too well. It was a song about Vanyel that had become incredibly popular in the last few weeks, spreading like hellfire and played by minstrels in taverns all over Haven – probably all over the entire Kingdom.

“Good gods, are you playing _Shadow Stalker_?”

Stefen jumped and tried to hide his lute. He aborted the movement when he realized that there was no point to it, and that he didn't have anywhere to hide a lute at arm's length.

“It's a good song,” Medren's friend said defensively.

“It's a ludicrous song! It has two sets of chords that are repeated over and over –which makes it a splendid tavern song, I suppose– and the lyrics are full of the most insulting euphemisms and metaphors I have ever heard.”

Stefen glared at Medren. “You are at _Bardic_ , metaphors and euphemisms are what we do. I know Herald Vanyel did not literally sing back to the Singer Of The Shadows, but it was an homage from the writer to the fact that he _can_ sing and that playing music is one of his oldest interests. They say he would have gone to Bardic if it hadn't been for his duty.”

“He wouldn't have gone to Bardic,” Medren answered, deeply annoyed and not quite sure how this had turned into an argument so quickly. “He only had Musicianship before the night he was Chosen. And I don't mind about that! I mind that Vanyel apparently defeated the Singer because he 'saw through her disguise' and that Vanyel 'looked within him and he saw her songs were lies'. He looked straight at her and he saw that she was a woman, plain as day, and her seduction attempts were wasted on him. She might have done better if she had offered him something else than _herself_.”

They stared at each other for a moment, until the corner of Stefen's lips started twitching up, and then he started laughing loudly. He tried to control himself twice, but the laughter only came back, stronger than before.

“What?” Medren asked, when it looked like Stef might be able to talk again.

“Great gods, Medren, are you a fan of the great Herald-Mage Vanyel Demonsbane? How do you even know all of this?”

Medren stayed silent, dumbfounded, as it hit him that Stefen did not know that Vanyel was his uncle. It wasn't, by any means, a well-known fact in Bardic. Medren never talked about his uncle much at all, and the teachers certainly never brought up their students' families. Everyone knew Medren was a bastard, which was the juicy part of his birth – not exactly _whose_ bastard he was, especially since his father wasn't an important noble, or one residing in Haven or in the vicinity.

Still, Medren had assumed Stefen had known, somehow.

“Is that why you only just got back from the ceremony?” Stefen pressed on when Medren didn’t speak up. “Did you stay and _gawk_? He certainly cuts a fine figure, but even I only caught a few glimpses of him, and I don't pretend to be subtle. What, pray tell, is _your_ excuse?”

Medren blushed furiously at this admission, suddenly aware that there were no more ways of telling Stefen about his and Vanyel's connection without it being incredibly awkward. He would still have to tell him of course, but he certainly didn't wish to right now.

He should have seen it coming, though: his uncle fit Stefen's type perfectly. He was more than twice Stef's age, was very good looking in a somewhat delicate way, and he was _extremely_ powerful, and Stefen was without a doubt very attracted to power.

“Or did you change your mind about your non-attraction to men because of him? Because I wouldn’t hold it against you,” Stefen continued, misreading the reason why Medren was now completely red.

“I propositioned him,” Medren blurted, saying the first thing that came to his mind.

“ _What?_ Just now?” Stefen huffed. “I wasn't serious, but now I'm slightly offended that you turned me down so decisively two years ago.”

“You were too drunk to stand up by yourself,” Medren reminded him. “And no, not just now – when I was twelve. I offered to go to bed with him if he would teach me music.”

Stefen made a disgusted face. “He’d never sleep with a child, he’s too honorable for that,” Stefen said. “Not to mention that he's a Thought-senser so he would have to be a special brand of evil to do anything with anyone who wasn't enthusiastic about the idea.”

It was telling that between asking Medren about what he meant and defending Vanyel, Stef's first instinct was to choose the latter. Stefen's hero-worship of Van –or whatever that was– was more important than what Medren would have expected.

Stefen shook his head, coming back to the topic at hand. “But no matter. Did you really meet him or are you mocking me? I can't... tell. I usually _can_.”

“No, no, I'm serious. I met him...” Medren trailed off, wondering how to bring up 'and he's my uncle' fluidly in this conversation.

“How did that _happen_? I thought you lived far from Haven, somewhere near the western border? Oh!” Stefen said, having just deduced the answer to his own question. “You're from around Lineas-Baires, aren't you? Herald Vanyel would have been there during the political tensions around the Deverans.”

Stefen had just given Medren a splendid opening, and Medren took it. He nodded and said, “I'm from Forst Reach.” Stefen's eyes widened. He knew Medren's father was a noble and was clearly making some connections already. “My father is Mekeal Ashkevron,” Medren specified, “the current heir of the title.”

Stefen's mouth slowly fell open, and his face became intensely red, and then whitened considerably. “Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron is the shaych uncle you sometimes tell me about?” he asked, sounding a bit weak.

“I probably should have told you earlier,” Medren answered.

Stef let himself fall back on his bed and partly hid his face in his hands. “Yes! Anytime before I told you I wanted to bed him would have been _great_. Gods, this is _mortifying_.”

“You’ve told me things that were much racier than you finding my uncle attractive,” Medren pointed out. He didn't mind Stefen being interested in Vanyel very much, he found.

 _In fact,_ Medren reflected, _They might make a good pair. Uncle Van hasn't had anyone in his life for so long – or if he had, it wasn't significant enough that I heard about it. He's not cold, but he seems to be very alone all the time. Stef might loosen him up a bit. Plus, even though it wouldn't last very long, I don't think either one of them would get hurt… If Stef and Vanyel ever met and something grew out of it, either Stef would be influenced by Vanyel and be temporarily more focused, or Van would be the one to learn to be more relaxed about relationships._

“I’m not talking about any of your family members anymore,” Stef declared. “Now give me your new lute, I want to try it out.” 

Medren laughed and handed him the lute, which had to be of lesser quality than most of Stefen's instruments. He watched Stef tune it from the corner of his eye as he unfolded his new tunic and changed. 

_I should at least try to get them in the same room, and see what happens from there._


	4. Chapter 4

Stefen and Vanyel had left Haven for Forst Reach most definitely not together, and Medren was slowly accepting that they would remain just friends. This situation wasn't necessarily bad, but he'd spent a lot of time planning how to get them to interact. Vanyel had seemed more open lately, and Stef was completely besotted, so he'd been... hopeful.

And then, of course, they came back not only together, but lifebonded.

“You're _what_?”

“Lifebonded,” Stefen repeated, grinning like a fool.

“How is that even possible? He’s already been lifebonded. Everyone only has one lifebonded in the world, and most of us will never meet them.”

Stefen shrugged, undeterred. “We don't know that for sure,” he countered. “Once you're lifebonded, you don't exactly keep on looking for someone, so who knows if someone could have two lifebondeds at the same time. And Van...” Stefen's voice became low and sad, his face serious. “Nothing about Van is normal, anyway. He should have died when Tylendel did.”

“I guess...” Medren said. “This is still crazy. I'm going to need time to process it, I think.”

Stefen nodded. “I think I should feel the same but... it seems natural, instead. Like it was supposed to happen, and so it did. It explains a lot of what I’ve been feeling about Van.”

Medren remembered the way Stef had lost interest in other lovers after he and Van had started spending time together. He had to admit that yes, the situation made more sense now.

*

Medren often went to Bardic's stables to spend time with the horses these days. He still did some work towards being awarded his Scarlets, but he had already completed the requirements - the real reason why he wasn't yet a Bard was because of the fuss around Stef's promotion; in short, he wasn't as motivated to work on his music as he could be and spending time outside was much more appealing.

He was on his way to the stables when he saw Vanyel waving at him, his Companion walking by his side.

“Are you looking for Stef?” Medren asked.

“No, no,” Vanyel answered, shaking his head. “He's with the king, and for once I don't need to be. I thought I would take the chance to spend more time with my favourite nephew. But – were you going somewhere?”

Medren smiled. “Just to the stables. I haven't been maintaining my equestrian skills, recently. I've walked plenty as a Journeyman, but good riding horses are scarce in the farmland. Do you want to join me?” He asked Vanyel. Then, he realised he was keeping Yfandes out of the conversation, and so turned towards he and added: “You are welcome to join us also, of course, Lady Yfandes.”

She shook his head and made an indignant sound, “I know, I know,” Medren answered, “but it took me years to stop calling Van 'milord' so you'll have to give me a bit longer, still.”

Yfandes moved closer to Medren to nudge his shoulder with her nose.

“She says we should go before she changes her mind about the exercise.” Yfandes nudged Vanyel and must have told him something because he laughed.

“It won't be much of it,” Medren promised her as he started walking. “We'll have to move rather slowly if we're to talk."

Medren didn't have his own horse but he often rode with Starsky, a black mare who had been in the stables since Medren had arrived at Bardic eight years ago. She couldn't go very fast on long distances anymore, so she never left the college grounds. Medren gave her the chance to exercise whenever he had the time.

Before leaving, Medren told the stable boy approximately when to expect them back. They rode fast at first, until Starsky showed signs of being tired, and then they rode slowly next to each other.

“I had ulterior motives about coming to see you today,” Vanyel said by way of opening the conversation.

“It wasn't just for my company?” Medren teased.

“It was,” Vanyel answered quickly. “But there's... there's something I need to talk to you about,” he continued, very serious and clearly nervous. Medren felt himself grow worried instantly. Was there something wrong with his mother? The king? Vanyel himself?

He was racking his brain trying to figure out what was more likely when Vanyel kept on going, “I – Stefen and I –”

 _Oh_ , Medren realized, not worried anymore. _Does he really think that Stefen wouldn't have told me that they were together? Why would he be so nervous about telling me something like this? Although... I guess his reaction isn't that hard to understand. He's my uncle and he's lifebonded to my best friend. He doesn't know everything I know about Stef's love life, or that I played a part in getting them together..._

“In Forst Reach,” Vanyel tried again, more sure of himself, “Stef and I became lovers.” And his uncle looked so miserable that Medren couldn't stop himself from playing with him.

“What?” He exclaimed, his tone too dramatic to be believable, not that Vanyel would be able to tell in his current state of mind. “He's my best friend!”

Vanyel winced. “I know. And I'm sorry he’s – I never wanted to meddle with your life. But I'm not sorry I met him.”

“He's half your age!” Medren continued. “He's younger than _me_.”

“Yes, he is. I tried – I swear I tried to stay away but... Medren, we're lifebonded.”

Vanyel looked so serious and afraid that Medren cracked and started laughing.

“Medren?”

“Great gods Van, did you really think I didn't know already? Stef has been telling me about –” He interrupted himself before he could start talking about Stefen's sex life, which would have been very inappropriate in the situation. “Stef is my best friend. He tells me when he becomes lifebonded to someone. It only happens once in someone's life – if that.” He paused. “Except... for you?”

Vanyel shook his head. “I can't explain it anymore than you can.”

“But it's good, right?”

Vanyel grinned. “Yes.”

“And you don't have to be afraid that it puts him in harm's way, because he'll know to run away if faced with danger. He's not a Herald.”

Vanyel chuckled. “He told me the same thing.”

Medren shook his head. “I can't believe you really _did_ talk about this. It must have been a romantic conversation.”

“Oh, now! I won't let my nephew tease me in this fashion.”

“It's too late for that,” Medren replied.

They both laughed and Yfandes shook her head and said something that made Vanyel laugh even louder.

After they had calmed down, Vanyel said, “I'm hearing talks that you'll soon be promoted.”

Medren shook his head. “It won't be right away. They're waiting for the dust to settle about Stef and it's taking longer than they thought it would.”

Vanyel winced. “I'm sorry. It's my fault.”

“What? How would it be your fault?”

“I'm the one who introduced him to Randale.”

“No.” Vanyel opened his mouth to answer again and Medren shook his head. “No,” he repeated emphatically. “He's helping the king, which is of his own doing, not yours. And Shavri was the one who insisted that he was to make the jump to Bard if he was going to work in the court. If anything, it was your _duty_ to make all of this happen.” Medren paused. “You feel guilty about the most bizarre things. You should work on that.”

Yfandes' body language changed, indicating that she was talking to Vanyel, and Vanyel eventually sighed loudly. “Yes, all right, if you are to gang up on me like this, I guess it might mean you're right.”

“Yes, we are,” Medren said lightly. “And I'm not that eager to have my Scarlets. With everything happening in Haven, I don't think I would leave right away. As long as I'm a Journeyman, I can stay at Bardic free of charge, while having access to one of the biggest library in the kingdom. Not to mention I can use the stables whenever I want.”

“Do you often go riding?”

“I try. I'm getting used to it again, really, now that Stef is busy so often. He used to complain that I was abandoning him whenever I wanted to go. Do you know – oh, I guess you must know now, with the travel to Forst Reach, that Stef can't ride at all. He is completely useless at it, and he won't practice, so I can't see him becoming any better.”

Vanyel suddenly looked away, Yfandes _snickered_ , and they stayed in complete silence for a few seconds until Vanyel muttered “Shut up, horse” while blushing furiously.

Medren didn't need to be told what had just happened and he felt himself flush in return. “Lady Yfandes! Did you –?”

Yfandes bobbed her head proudly.

“Stef must love you, with that dirty brain of yours,” Medren told her, not feeling the blush fade away.

“He does. I'm spending half my time disappointed that Stef can't understand her enough to sustain a discussion, and half of it relieved that it means at least they can't spend too much of their time pestering me relentlessly.”

*

When Medren came back to his room later in the evening, he was only half surprised to see Stefen there.

“Where _were_ you?” He asked. “I had the worst day and I couldn't find you or Vanyel.”

“We were together.” Medren answered. “We went riding.”

“Of course you did. I still don't understand how anyone could spend time on horseback for fun.” He paused, and grinned. “There are other kinds of riding that are much better ways to use one's time.”

Medren grimaced. “You and Yfandes, I swear... You _do_ know that you can't keep on sharing your love life with me now that your love life involves my uncle, right?” He asked, hopeful.

Stefen laughed. Medren could only groan and hide his face behind his hand in defeat.


End file.
